The concert had been good, very good; the group of four musicians were an oddity among the upper echelons of Canterlot society: not big enough for a band, too many sousaphones for a string quartet (in other words, one sousaphone). Non-traditional composition aside the quartet, such as they were, never wanted for bookings and, by extension, reception dinners. The four ponies entered the reception room to an enthusiastic stomping of hooves. They waved amicably as they entered and, once inside, split from one another and diffused into the solution of the room: bright, rich, and saturated with class.
Symphony, violin case over one shoulder, was sure that nopony else saw what happened next; what always happened next. She sipped a glass of champagne and cast her gaze across the crowd with narrowed eyes.
"It's happening again." She remarked to Beauty Brass, nodding her head at the Brownian motion of the crowd.
The sousaphonist rolled her eyes. "You're imagining it you know, it's not real." Beauty Brass watched Symphony as the violinist made her way over to a group of ponies that had gathered at one side of the room. Squeezing through gaps in the knot of benefactors, she looked in on the centre of their attention.
Octavia.
Symphony sighed.
It wasn't that Octavia was mean to her; Octavia wasn't mean to anypony. But Symphony felt that she could be forgiven for feeling jealous, just a little, of the cellist's crowds of admirers.
She's too bucking perfect isn't she? She pondered, spitefully. Never mind the beauty or the talent.
It's the damn charm, that's what it is.
Symphony wasn't wrong. Whatever the other players may tell themselves, the crowd in the reception room was clustered around Octavia: she chatted and laughed under their admiring stares, living off their admiration as a plant lives off the light of the sun.
It's so damn unfair, and I'm almost certain that I'm being petty and foalish. The lemon-yellow mare trudged frustratedly off to the other side of the chamber, trying not to attract attention to herself as she did so. Modest groups of admirers had gathered around the other musicians too, but she'd lost her own following with her foray into Octavia's private army of listeners. Bereft of hangers-on, Symphony made her way towards the exit. She could think of no real reason to hang around; after all, nopony was likely to notice that she'd left.
The night was drizzling gently. A security pony outside the music hall tipped his cap to Symphony as she left; she nodded to him in response. The lamplights in the street sizzled gently as droplets of water struck them and evaporated. Ignoring them, Symphony walked depressedly out onto the path and shrugged to stop her violin case from falling from her back.
"Oh come on, Symphony. How'm ah supposed ta make a dramatic entrance if y'all don't notice me?"
Jumping, the violinist looked about. After a moment, she noticed a familiar silhouette leaning against one of the lampposts. It tipped its Stetson to her. "Not like you ta be leavin' this early."
"Fiddly Faddle?"
"Fiddlesticks, sis, please." The shape detached itself from the lamppost and dropped back down to all fours. "Y'all know ah never liked that name."
Symphony trotted excitedly over to her sister and grabbed her in a hug. "Where've you been, Fiddly? I haven't seen y'all- er, you in ages."
Startled by the affection, the b'Stetsoned mare returned the hug. "All over the place, sis. You wouldn't believe it." She gave a gasp as the squeeze was tightened. "Eh, y'all wanna maybe let go've me? It's gettin' a mite hard ta breath in here."
"Oh, sorry, sorry." The hug was dropped.
Fiddlesticks readjusted her Stetson with a hoof and grinned. "It's mighty nice ta see you too, sis. Heck, ah didn't even know where you were 'till y'all sent me a letter sayin' that ah should come an' see ya."
Symphony frowned. "What letter?"
"You know, the letter. You said y'all were plum sad an' needed cheerin' up." She raised an eyebrow. "Y'all mean you didn't write it?"
"No!"
"But y'all are upset?"
Symphony opened her mouth to deny it, but her brain caught her halfway. "N-, well... Look, just because my life isn't perfect doesn't mean I need cheering up."
Fiddlesticks grinned. "It wouldn't do any harm though would it?"
"What?"
"Come on, sis. I've missed you. Walk with me, tell me all about it." Fiddlesticks threw a hoof around Symphony's shoulders and began to walk her along the path. She hadn't been in Canterlot in years, but she'd spied about on her way here. Some of the bars had looked rather good. "You do drink right?" She asked.
"Look, I really think th-"
"No?"
Symphony stammered. "Well I do on occasion, but I-"
"Great!"
The bar itself was rather airy; large, scenic windows looked out over the roofs of Canterlot and took in the lights of the never-sleeping city. Symphony sat serenely in a corner of the room, glass of wine in hoof, while Fiddlesticks lounged beside her with an air of effortless comfort and an appletini. Symphony had made her contempt for the drink clear.
"I'm telling you!" Fiddly replied; "These things are great!"
The violinist eyed the drink suspiciously. "It's green."
"So?"
"It's bright green. Nothing's bright green."
"These're always bright green."
Symphony recoiled slightly at the idea. "What on Equestria's in them?"
"No idea, sis, but ah aten't dead yet." Fiddly pushed a lock of mane back from her eyes and grinned. "Go on, try one."
A second conical glass of emerald liquid was pushed across the table. Nervously, Symphony sniffed it and cringed. "Ugh. This smells like it could strip paint."
Fiddlesticks seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Nope." She concluded, finally. "I'm almost certain that it wouldn't."
Symphony raised one perfect eyebrow. "Almost?"
"Yep."
The violinist rubbed her eyes with a hoof and pushed the offending drink away half-heartedly. "I should go home. Thanks for the wine, Fiddly, it was nice seeing you." Symphony stood morosely and made her way towards the door without haste. Behind her, her sister frowned.
"Aww, come on, sis. It's not that bad." Symphony did not turn; Fiddlesticks sighed: she didn't expect her sister to take the next part of the conversation well, but the violinist hadn't admitted anything yet and she knew that she couldn't let Symphony just up and leave; sure enough, the next sentence caught her sister square in the brain. "I don't mean the drink, sis. Ah'm sure she don't mean to hog all the attention."
Symphony visibly jumped. She spun to face her sister. "Did Beauty Brass tell you? It's none of your business."
"Is she the one with that horn thingy? Nope, she didn't tell me anything."
Symphony was obviously uncomfortable with her sister's new found omniscience. "Who told you then?"
Fiddlesticks patted the booth's cushion and, reluctantly, Symphony sat back down. "Ah came to the concert."
Symphony stared; awkwardly, Fiddlesticks continued.
"Ah hadn't seen y'all in years, sis. Ah wanted to surprise ya when y'all came out ah t'hall but ah made up that letter thing at the last minute 'cause ah could tell that y'all needed cheerin' up." A lack of response from Symphony prompted Fiddlesticks to continue. "Ah could tell that y'all were jealous, an' after the stompin' that cellist got ah figured it'd be her y'all were jealous of-"
"You were watching?"
"Well... Yea."
Symphony looked worried. "Was- was I ok?"
"Does it matter?"
The violinist looked shocked. "Of course it matters! It's my life! It's what I do! What'm I sup-"
Fiddlesticks shushed her with a smile, "Calm down sis," she chuckled. "Yes sis, you were good. Ah reckon you've been in Canterlot too long."
"Whatever do you mean?"
Grinning, Fiddlesticks spun her Stetson on her head. It messed up her mane. "Y'all know that you're good, sis."
Symphony looked embarrassed. "Well..."
"Ah mean it! Ah-, Ah mean-" Fiddlesticks waved her hooves in an attempt to convey her message. "Well look, ah play in Ponyville every now an' again for the Apple family ok?" Symphony nodded. "Well, you think that they stomp for the music? They stomp 'cause ah'm playin', they'd do it for anypony."
"You're saying that it doesn't matter if we try?"
"Shucks! A'course it matters! What doesn't matter is if we're perfect! Ah miss notes, sis. Ah bet you do too, not that ah can ever tell with this frilly stuff ah yours." Fiddlesticks smiled. "Anypony that's there to hear perfect stuff's not worth impressin' at any rate."
Symphony looked puzzled, she remembered Ponyville but it'd been years since she'd been back there. She chuckled lightly at Fiddlestick's condemnation of the majority of Canterlot society.
Encouraged by the smile, Fiddlesticks put a hoof on her sister's shoulder. "There'll always be somepony there ta shout for ya, sis, even if it's me."
Symphony blushed, a snapshot of the end of the concert coming back to her with a wave of embarrassment. She whispered frantically.
"You're not meant to shout at that kind of concert!"
Symphony's violin rested on her shoulder nicely. It was just as well that they always took several days between concerts; the hangover from her night with Fiddly had been hard to shake off. Silence had fallen over the expectant crowd as the musicians had taken up their positions on stage and Symphony could tell already that most of the eyes in the stands were fixed on the cellist to her right. With all prepared, three pairs of eyes were drawn to the violinist as they awaited her opening notes.
With one last deep breath, it began.
She could feel dozens of gazes on her as the first notes of the melody clambered delicately up the octaves. After four bars the harp joined her; sequences of rolling notes cascading through the tune like ripples in a river and before long all four musicians had struck their first notes. Once again, Octavia and her cello were the centre of attention, but Symphony smiled, nevertheless. Such a difference it made, she mused, support.
Confidently, she played on; she'd seen a white Stetson in the crowd.
Fiddlesticks shouted again, at the end. But the odd looks were worth it.